


New Yorkers

by tonicandjins



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes - Freeform, F/M, Fiction, James Buchanan Barnes - Freeform, Sebastian Stan - Freeform, Standom - Freeform, celebrity fanfiction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 07:49:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9646934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tonicandjins/pseuds/tonicandjins
Summary: All he ever wanted was someone to come home to.Sebastian Stan’s job was fun, but never easy. It was rewarding—with all the love he gets from the people who support him—but exhausting. He’s never in the same place these days—always on a plane off to another beautiful yet unfamiliar place; most of the time in a panel in front of a crowd where microphones and lights and cameras surrounded him, it was almost blinding—and despite the fun of it all, it gets lonely sometimes.And then he met you.You were the kind of person he never expected to fall in love with. But then, he figured, falling in love was often unexpected.He met you on one of the loneliest years of his life despite all the success, and he knew—God, he knew—that he shouldn’t be building houses out of people but, God, help him: he would do everything to keep you in his life.





	1. Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I am new in AO3, and this is my first attempt in making a full length fanfiction. I have written a couple of one shots on tumblr (protectsebstan2k16.tumblr.com), but from now on, I will be posting my works here. Enjoy!

All he ever wanted was someone to come home to.

Sebastian Stan’s job was fun, but never easy. It was rewarding—with all the love he gets from the people who support him—but exhausting. He’s never in the same place these days—always on a plane off to another beautiful yet unfamiliar place; most of the time in a panel in front of a crowd where microphones and lights and cameras surrounded him, it was almost blinding—and despite the fun of it all, it gets lonely sometimes.

His place in New York has been the same one since he moved seven years ago, and a lot has happened in all those years. The apartment has witnessed the shittiest and best years of his life. It has seen a couple of girlfriends cry during the end of the line; almost a dozen of women on his bed at night, only to leave in the morning while he slept; so many phone calls with his agent about auditions; literally just everything that’s happened in the past seven years. He never thought of moving, even after the drastic fame he got because of Marvel, for the sole reason that his place was his home. 

He travelled so much that he wanted to come home to the same place over and over to remind him of where we started. 

It was only when he started getting bigger roles when he felt it got lonely. From small, temporary, almost insignificant characters from low-budget films to award-winning movies and a nine-picture contract with Marvel, his job got more challenging. He trains and films for almost half a year, gets another role after it, then travels for press tour, shoots another film, and does it all over again, making it almost impossible to find time to find love and all its beauty.

His ex-girlfriend, Margo, used to live in his apartment when they were together. But when the inevitable came, she moved out, leaving his home and heart empty. He couldn’t blame her for leaving though. He wasn’t home most of the months in a year, and even when Margo had her own job, she still managed to be home thrice as much as he was. She didn’t want to be the woman who waited three months just to touch him again, and he didn’t want her to be just that. 

Don’t get him wrong, though. He would never intentionally make a woman wait for him that long. It was just that he had no choice.

He had been waiting for his big break since he was twenty-three, and now that it’s come, he couldn’t just drop it, especially when it’s offered to him in silver platter. 

So he let her go, because again, he had no choice. 

And then he met you. 

You were the kind of person he never expected to fall in love with. But then, he figured, falling in love was often unexpected. 

You weren’t an actress like most of his past lovers. Living in a small apartment near his and working six days a week, you did everything to get by. You were normal, in the sense that your life wasn’t as crazy as his but a little crazy nonetheless. And if he could only string all the words in the world and combine them to describe why he loves you so much, he would. But at this point—when he’s in too deep, he couldn’t get out even if he wanted to—you are the only thing he would ever beg for, the only person he would chase until the ends of the earth. 

He met you on one of the loneliest years of his life despite all the success, and he knew—God, he knew—that he shouldn’t be building houses out of people but, God, help him: he would do everything to keep you in his life.


	2. Coffee Shop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> November 3rd, Coffee Shop.
> 
> “Welcome back to New York.”
> 
> “I’ll see you around.”

 

November third, you remember clearly, was the day you met Sebastian.

 

As an executive assistant to one of the editors in Bloomsbury Publishing, your job wasn’t easy. Of course, it will never be as difficult as the people you work for, but it wasn’t a stress-free task either.

You were one out of a hundred employees who hoped to get a book published someday. But the road to being published has never been easy; no author has ever said it was. You worked nine hours a day, six days a week—sometimes seven, and all year long except for the holidays. Answering phone calls has become a skill, and so is responding to a hundred e-mails everyday. Your job description also includes fixing Marlene’s schedule, making her coffee thrice a day, reviewing memos and mails, printing everything she asks you to, and just about everything that made Marlene’s job easier. 

You never complain, though, because Marlene Parker was a good person. Yes, she becomes strictly professional when needed, but she wasn’t as cruel as movies would portray associate editors would be. And she has always been sweet to you, always reminding you that you’d get published soon, and that you’ll be whoever you want to be. All you needed to do was wait for your time, and while you do, work hard.

And that’s what you do everyday.

 

But one particular day, November third, a shift happened.

 

You were late and you had no one to blame but your friends who insisted you should go out on a Wednesday night instead of drowning yourself in paper works. And so you were hangover on the morning of November third and had no time to make yourself a cup of coffee to get you through the day.

On your way to work, all you could think about was how grateful you are that Marlene was out of town for a convention and won’t be back until the week after. Hugging your purse tighter on your side in hopes of keeping your warmer, you entered the nearest coffee shop you could go. The place was located two blocks away from your apartment, and despite living in one of the quietest parts of New York (if that even exists), it was full. Perhaps it was because everyone was just having a bad November third, you didn’t know. But there was no time to wonder why suddenly the place was tight.

You looked at the time, half an hour past seven. You were supposed to be at work half an hour ago but you needed your coffee fix. Besides, you’re not really needed at work when Marlene’s not around.

After ordering your usual—a latte with extra milk, you took a seat at the booth by the window. You silently waited for the barista to serve your to-go coffee. 

And maybe it was the universe tilting on your side once again, like the day you got accepted in Brown for college, because seconds later, Sebastian Stan stood in front of you, asking if the seat was taken.

Surprised, you shook you head and took your bag from the table to give him space. He sat down casually and removed his glasses. Even with his tired eyes, he still looked good.

You knew him, of course. You were a big fan of Marvel yourself. And you might have seen him before, you thought. Perhaps on the busy streets or anywhere else, but you couldn’t remember. It was New York, you could never really remember where you saw a person, because here, you saw everyone everywhere.

 

“How are you?” he asked, extending a hand, which you gladly took. “I’m Sebastian, by the way. I’d sit elsewhere but every table’s taken.” 

“I’m (Y/N),” you responded. “And it’s alright, I would have done the same.”

“So, you live here?” he asked, almost too quick, and then shook his head. “Sorry, it’s really early and I just got back from a fifteen-hour flight. I get really talkative and chirpy, which I think is really weird but I—”

“It’s alright,” you assured. “And yes, I live here, just around the corner actually.” You reminded yourself to breathe. “So, fifteen hours, huh? Must be a pain.”

“Absolutely,” he replied. “I couldn’t sleep on the plane. I napped maybe a couple of hours, but after that I just watched whatever was on the television. Are you here a lot?”

You shook your head. “Only today. I usually make my own coffee but I’m running late. Well, I’m actually very late now. Where’s my latte?”

He let out a laugh and combed his finger through his hair. “Well, I’m a regular—at least when I’m home. I pledged myself to tone it down a little with Starbucks coffee, so here I am.”

You nodded, unable to think of anything else to say. Thank goodness the barista called your name along with your drink.

“That’s me,” you said, getting up. “I’m really in a hurry. Must go now." 

He nodded, giving me a sly smile. “Alright, then, (Y/N),” he said. “It was nice meeting you.” He offered another handshake, which you gladly took once again, letting your palms touch longer that it should because you’re sure it would be the last time.

 

“Welcome back to New York.” 

“I’ll see you around,” he said, letting you go and get your drink.

 

You smiled as you took your drink from the barista’s hand and walked out of the place, reminding yourself not to look at him.

 

“I hope I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	3. Subway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> November 9th, Subway
> 
> "What a shitty world, isn’t it?”
> 
> “Not really. Shit stuff happen, but the world is kind of pretty. Don’t be a pessimist, Sebastian.”

**_It took you seven minutes to realize Sebastian was behind you on the subway._ **

 

You don’t normally take the train. It was just one of those days when Marlene needed you to personally speak to a couple of people.

Owning a car in New York is not much of a norm. When you’re a multi-millionaire, sure, but as a regular citizen, it’s not really necessary to own a car in the city. Every street is pretty much covered in people walking and cars honking. It was much more convenient to walk, take a subway or hail a cab.

When going to work, you usually just walk since it was only around seven blocks away. Sure, it was exhausting, but it saved a few dollars. And you weren’t famous or anything, you didn’t need to look fabulous every second you’re out of your apartment.

The subway wasn’t one of your favorite places in New York. The streets were crowded and noisy, almost like the subway, but you preferred it rather than the latter. The train station seemed like it was noisier, busier, more crowded, entirely different.

People would expect you to be used to it because you’ve been living here for almost six years, but somehow you just haven’t been fond of the subway.

Keeping your purse and files close to your body, you stood in the middle of the crowd as you waited for the next train to stop. You tried your best not to look at anyone or start an unnecessary anxiety attack. You were so sure you were unnoticed, but then the universe had better plans.

 

“Subway, huh?” he said, startling you.

“God,” you sighed, turning around to face him. “Don’t do that again.” 

“Sorry,” he apologized. “Hi, (Y/N).”

“Like that would calm me down,” you joked. “And no, I don’t like subways. I had no choice. Taxis are expensive as hell.”

“What brings you here then?” he asked, tilting his head. You took a second to look at him. He wore a plain navy blue shirt, black jeans, and a pair of black shoes while he held a black jacket on his left hand and his phone on the other. 

“Uh,” you cleared your throat and shrugged your arms a bit to show him the folders you were holding. “Work stuff. Had to be done personally on the other side of New York.”

“I see,” he said. “You’re heading back to town.”

You nodded. “Yeah, going back home. My boss allowed me to go home early as long as I get all my work stuff done.”

“So,” he started. “Work stuff, huh? Vague.”

You let out a laugh. “I’m an executive assistant. Well, just an assistant, I just add executive to make myself seem very smart. But I swear to God, it really says executive assistant on my identification card. 

He laughed, shifting his position a bit so it looked like he was leaning on you. “I believe you, Ms. Executive Assistant.”

You were about to respond when the train made a stop, making everyone else around the two of you start scurrying towards the vehicle. Stumbling backwards, you tried your best to keep yourself standing. Sebastian immediately held your arms, that are still tightly wrapped around your things, and pulled you close to him.

“Careful,” he mumbled. “Let’s go.”

You didn’t even have the time to nod; he was already holding you close and leading you towards the train’s doors.

Speechless, you followed him and took a seat you both managed to snatch from other people.

“You know I live near the café we met,” he mumbled beside you. You didn’t even try to look at him.

“Yeah?” you breathed out, calming yourself. The proximity between you was so close, his leg and arm touched yours. “Mine was just a couple of blocks.”

 “Is it by any chance in Ridgewood Apartments?” he asked, shifting a little when a lady sat beside him.

You let out a small laugh and shook your head. “Oh, goodness, no. I would never afford an apartment there. I live with my dog, and she doesn’t take up much space, so a small studio gets us by.”

“Ridgewood is kind of cheap. They’ve renovated and stuff, but they’ve only raised around a couple of hundred bucks in he past seven years.”

 

“Do you own Ridgewood?” you asked. “You sound like you’re luring me to move out of my tiny apartment.”

 

He laughed and leaned a little when the train started to move. “I don’t, but I’ve lived there for seven years.”

 

This time, you looked at him. “Seven years? Are you serious? You’ve been living in Ridgewood for seven years, even after all the money you probably got from Captain America?” 

He bit his lip to fight back a smile. You blushed.

“Uhh,” you said, looking away. “I’m sorry. Shouldn’t have asked that.”

“It’s alright,” he assured, just like I did when we first met. “And yeah, nothing’s wrong with it. I mean, uhm, there’s the occasional toilet problem, but the plumber lives in the basement so it takes around fifteen minutes to get it done. How long have you lived in your apartment?

“Well, this one, I’ve only lived there around six months,” you answered. 

“Explains why I never saw you before we met last week,” he mumbled. “You just recently moved here?”

“No, no,” you answered. “Well, kind of. I lived in Manhattan for around four years, and then moved with my boyfriend here in the city like two years ago. But you know, stuff happens.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. 

“Not your fault, Mr. Stan.”

He shook his head. “Please call me Sebastian. ‘Mr. Stan’ makes me uncomfortable.”

You nodded your head and focused on the small trash bin across you.

“You know,” he started again. _God,_ was he talkative. “My girlfriend—well, ex—moved out of my apartment just around eight months ago as well." 

“Welcome to the club,” you mumbled, making him laugh a little.

“Where do I sign up?” he asked.

“You’re in,” you joked. “No more interviews or résumés. Don’t tell anyone you know the president, though. They’ll tell me I’m biased for letting you in without an initiation. 

He laughed even more.

“I kinda miss Manhattan, though,” you thought out loud. You blushed even more when you realized you were speaking again. You didn’t want to talk as much as possible, you just want to hear his voice and never respond.

“What do you miss about it?”

“The streets,” you answered. “It’s less crowded there. More space. More air.” 

“You’ve been in New York City for around two years,” he remarked. “You should have fallen in love with it by your second day here.” 

“I am,” you agreed. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t miss Manhattan.”

“It’s easier to blend in here,” he said. “Easier to hide from the world. Easier to find your place.” 

“It is,” you nodded.

“When was the last time you were in Manhattan?” he asked.

“May eleventh, this year,” you answered, a little too quickly. “A week after the shit storm my boyfriend did. I lived in my friend’s apartment for a couple of weeks until Marlene, my boss, finally called me and scolded me for being so pathetic.” You let out a laugh. “She just needed me to pick up her dry cleaning.”

He laughed with you. “What a shitty world, isn’t it?”

You shook your head. “Not really. Shit stuff happen, but the world is kind of pretty. Don’t be a pessimist, Sebastian.”

 

Silence lingered between you, even though the sound of the train and the people was noisy. His leg and arm still touched yours, and you couldn’t move.

 

Ninth of November, you noted.

On the ninth of November, you sat next to Sebastian Stan in the train.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	4. Bar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> November 18th, Bar
> 
> “Wanna go dancing?”  
> “We’re too old for that.”

_**You were good with dates.** _

 

Not romantic dates though, but dates, as in days in the calendar.

You remember the exact dates of some significant days in your life. People would say it’s a gift, that you remembered dates because most people don’t, but it has a downside to it. Yes, it was good that you remembered June seventh, the day you met your best friend, but it was shitty that you always remembered May tenth, the day you called it quits with your long-time boyfriend. You do your best to forget those days, but they just won’t leave your train of memories.

 

And today, the eighteenth of November, was a day you’ll remember forever.

 

After sitting on the train with Sebastian a couple of weeks before, you bumped into him twice. First on the eleventh, two days after the train, on the streets in the morning.

You weren’t the kind to work out and maintain a healthy body, but you cared about yourself. On Sundays, you made sure you went for a run and head to the nearest gym. And just recently, around a month ago, you found this gym close to your apartment. Before heading out to the gym, you usually went for a run. You always took the long way from your apartment to the gym because it made more sense to run around it rather than run just three blocks away.

Sebastian works out in the same gym with the owner as his trainer. What a beautiful coincidence, you thought.

All sweaty and red, you arrived at the gym with your earpods on. One of the employees greeted you and handed you the attendance sheet kind of thing because you were subscribed to a weekly work out. He, like he does every time you were there, asked if you wanted to upgrade to thrice a week, and you, like you always do, said you weren’t ready for that kind of commitment yet.

You headed to your spot, in the corner where there weren’t people. The gym wasn’t packed. A couple of guys were lifting, a few were on the treadmills, and a couple more guys were talking near you. Ignoring everyone (not that you had their attention), you started working out as usual.

You kept your earpods tucked in your ears as you worked out, blocking everyone else from your mind.

 

Around twenty minutes in, you were exhausted from lifting and squatting and everything, so you took your iPod from the back pocket of your gym and stopped the music playing. Sighing, you went to the nearest bench and took a seat.

 

“So, gym, huh?”

Startled, you almost jumped from your seat.

“What the hell, you need to stop doing that!”

Laughing, Sebastian sat beside you. “How are you?”

“Having a heart attack,” you answered.

“Here,” he said, handing you a bottle of water. “Noticed you didn’t bring one. It’s new.”

“You?”

“Nah,” he shrugged and shoved the bottle in your hand. “I’m done. Around half an hour ago. I just waited for you to be done as well to say hi." 

“You did?” you asked, opening the bottle. “Thank you.” 

He shrugged. “Where are you going after this?”

“Home,” you answered, taking a big gulp of water before talking again. “I’m done for the day.”

“It’s only eight,” he remarked. “Let’s grab some coffee? From the café we met." 

You shook your head. “I’m all sweaty.”

“So am I.”

“But you still look great.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “I don’t. You do. Come on.” 

“I would still have to go home, though,” you said. “I don’t bring any money with me when I come here. Just my trusty iPod.”

“It’s on me,” he insisted.

You immediately shook your head and protested. “No way.”

“Yes,” he said. “Come on.” He stood up. “I’ll get you a cup of your latte.”

“No, Sebastian,” you protested. “We’ll grab coffee. I just need to get home to get myself some money.”

“If we go now, get our coffee, talk a bit, then you can go home and you’ll be done for the day for real,” he said. “It’s fine, (Y/N). You can pay me back when we see each other again.”

You bit your lip and thought about it for a while, but sighed when he started pouting his lips to lure you. It worked.

 

“Fine, let’s get some coffee.”

 

 

The fourth time you saw Sebastian Stan, you bought him an ice cream.

 

You stopped on your way back home from work to reward yourself with a cone of ice cream from the shop near your apartment. Screw all the calories, you were going to the gym in a couple more days anyway.

Literally, you bumped into him as you struggled to take your phone out of your purse. He was on his phone as well, texting or whatever, and your small frame collided into him, making you almost stumble.

“I’m sorry, I—” he stopped when he saw it was you, holding your arms to help you keep yourself from falling. “(Y/N)!”

You pulled away and cleared your throat. “Sebastian, hi. I’m sorry I was trying to get my pho—" 

“It’s alright, I wasn’t looking as well,” he interrupted. “You heading home?”

You nodded. “I’m just stopping for some ice cream. You?”

“Grocery store,” he answered. “Ran out of pizza rolls.”

You laughed with him. “Uhh, wanna grab some ice cream? I mean, I do owe you for that coffee the other day.”

“Sure,” he said immediately and turned around to walk the same direction as you. “So, where do you live?”

“What, you plan on stalking me?” you joked.

“Darling,” he said dreamily. “You’re the one stalking me. We keep bumping into each other.”

“It’s just coincidence,” you retorted, sticking your tongue out for him as you took a turn for the ice cream shop. “Don’t take your hopes up. Not every girl is out there to chase you." 

“Ouch,” he said, pouting as you entered the shop.

You laughed, making your way towards the counter and looking up the menu. “I live in the Bridgette building, a block away from yours.” 

“Why do I never run into you there?” he asked.

“I leave for work early,” you answered and turned to the employee in front of you. “I’ll have chocolate chip please.” And then you turned to Sebastian.

“Cookies and cream,” he told the cashier who smiled dreamily at him. 

“That will be three dollars and twenty-five cents, Mr. Stan,” the lady sweetly said.

 You stopped yourself from cringing and handed the girl four dollars, telling her to keep the change. She thanked you in the most boring manner and then went back to smiling at Sebastian. 

Rolling your eyes, you turned to find yourself a table. He followed you, laughing.

“Seems like every girl really is out there to chase me,” he joked.

“Not me, Sebastian,” you answered sitting down.

“Please,” he said. “Call me Seb. We’re friends now, aren’t we?”

You nodded. “Alright, Seb. So, why cookies and cream?” 

“You’re lame in conversations,” he said. “What are you doing tonight?”

“I plan on skipping dinner and jumping into bed immediately. Well, after I take a shower and feed my dog. Netflix then sleep.”

“Boring,” he commented and leaned back.

“Well,” you said, biting your lip to stop yourself from laughing. “Entertain me with your night plans then.”

“After this and getting my grocery, I’m heading back home. I’ll fix all my groceries first, then make myself a sumptuous dinner you would die for. Wash the dishes, then head to my room. Get my iPad, scroll through Instagram, read the book my friend gave me after that, then watch whatever. Then sleep.”

“Boring!” you said, laughing.

 

The girl from the counter walked towards your table and handed your ice cream cones. She was batting her lashes and smiling so widely, it was almost creepy.

“Thanks for the treat,” he said before diving in. You tried your best not to watch him lick his ice cream.

“I owe you, so here’s my payment,” you said with a shrug.

You ate in silence, keeping your eyes away from him. Then he spoke.

“Cookies and cream ice cream reminds me of the cupcakes my Mom used to bake.”

 

 

 

Seeing him in the gym and bumping into him on the street were memorable. But tonight was different.

 

“Fancy seeing you here,” he greeted, raising his (you guessed) rum and coke to toast with yours. “Didn’t expect to see you here on a Friday night.” 

“Yeah,” you agreed. “I still have work tomorrow so I shouldn’t be here but it’s my friend’s birthday and I’m taking advantage of unlimited drinks.”

“Why are you alone, though?” he asked.

“They’re doing body shots,” you answered, cringing. “Not my thing.”

“Woah, how old are they?" 

You laughed. “They think they’re still on their early twenties but they’re almost 30.”

“I’m guessing you’re almost 30, then,” he said, sitting on the stool beside you. You turned a little, so you were facing him.

“Please don’t remind me,” you groaned. “I’m 29. It’s shitty.”

 “I’m 34, it’s shittier,” he replied.

“It’s alright, you’re a man. You men don’t age. Unfair.”

“We do,” he said. “I get backaches.”

“Ew,” you joked. “You here alone?”

He shook his head. “I’m with my friends, but I needed another drink.”

“You should go back then, they must be waiting for you.”

“And let you sit here alone? Hell no!”

You blushed, but shrugged it off with a laugh and drank the rest of your drink.

“I’d offer you another drink but you’re ‘taking advantage’ of your unlimited drinks,” he said, drinking his own. “Wanna go dancing?” 

“We’re too old for that.”

“Darling,” he almost whispered, standing and taking your hand. “Nobody’s too old to dance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	5. Bar, Sidewalk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> November 18th/19th, Bar/Sidewalk
> 
> “Just wanted to make sure,”
> 
> “You actually thought I gave you a fake number?”

**_Dancing. You were never good at it._ **

 

After dancing to You Make My Dreams, Mmmbop, and Mamma Mia, Sebastian insisted that you should rest, which you said it was the last time you’d dance like that again.

“Having fun so far?” he asked.

“I was having fun being alone at the bar awhile ago,” you said. “Dancing isn’t fun.”

“You were laughing the whole time. I’m sure it was at least a tiny bit of fun,” he remarked leading you towards the bar again. He ordered himself another drink and you did as well, telling the barista to add your drink to your friend’s name.

“I was laughing because you danced so awfully,” you said letting out another laugh as you sat on the stool. “Seriously, for someone who performed in Broadway, you’re a shitty dancer.”

“Thanks, darling,” he sarcastically replied. “You’re a shitty dancer, too. Makes us a team.”

“Oh, well,” you shrugged. “At least nobody’s following me around when I’m dancing.”

“Hey, shhh. Don’t go telling anyone I’m here. I mean, I’m not that famous but they get annoying sometimes. Especially when I’m just tired and they keep following me around." 

“Sorry, I already tweeted it,” you joked. “Explains why you decided to live on this side of New York City.”

He nodded, taking the drink the barista set in front of us. “A lot of people still recognize me and ask for pictures but that’s better than having paparazzi outside your building, waiting for you every damn morning." 

You hummed in agreement. “I can’t imagine a life like yours. Must be exhausting, huh?”

“The paparazzi and media are terrible sometimes. And yes, it gets exhausting, but it’s rewarding though—fulfilling even.”

“You’re really nice,” you blurted out. “I mean, you’re successful and everything but you still talk to me. I guess I’m just surprised, because if you were anyone else, you would have forgotten me the second I was out of that café.”

He only smiled and blushed. “So,” he started again. “Tell me about yourself.” 

“Well, you already know a few stuff. I’m 29, I work as—”

“The stuff I don’t know,” he interrupted. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Really?” He nodded. You sighed. “It’s blue. But not just any kind of blue. Navy blue. What’s yours?”

“Black,” he said. “And red. I don’t know. I still can’t decide. It’s been 30 years.”

You laughed.

“I write stuff,” you said. “I mean, like novels and stuff. None of my works are published, besides those terrible articles I wrote for local newspapers and my blog. I just write and hope to get noticed.”

“I’m sure you’re a great writer,” he replied. “I act.”

“I kind of already figured that out, Seb.”

 

He was about to say something when one of your friends, Zoe, wrapped her arms around you from behind and rested her chin on your shoulder. Again, just like every time someone startles you, you almost jumped out of your stool.

 

“Zoe, what the hell?” you exclaimed, clutching on your chest and putting your drink on the counter.

“Hello to you, too, sweetheart,” she grinned. “And hi, Mr. Stan. I didn’t know you knew my friend.” 

“Ugh,” you groaned. “Seb, this is Zoe. Zoe, you already know who he is.”

 She untangled her arms around you and proceeded to offer a hand to Sebastian, who gladly shook it with a smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Seb." 

“It’s Sebastian. Don’t call him Seb, he’s my friend,” you interrupted, making Sebastian laugh. 

“Seb’s alright for me,” he told Zoe, letting her hand go. “But if she says you should call me Sebastian, I think you should. She’s kind of bossy.”

You gasped, “I’m not!” You jokingly punched him on the shoulder.

“Well, I won’t be long. I just needed a drink,” Zoe said then turned to the barista. “Can you give table six another round of beers?” The barista nodded and proceeded to take her order. “Hey, Sebastian,” she said, exphasizing his name. “Take care of our girl, alright? She doesn’t like us.”

“I love you very much,” you protested. “But I don’t like body shots.”

“Oldie,” she said, sticking her tongue out. “Anyway, come back to our table when you want or whatever. Just give us a heads up when you’re heading home.”

“Will do,” you agreed and gave her a hug as she went away.

You looked at Sebastian and apologized. “Zoe is… Zoe. Sorry about her.”

“It’s alright,” he assured. “You sure you wanna stay here and talk to me? You can go back to them now. I’m pretty sure they’re done with body shots.”

You smiled. “I like talking to you,” you blurted out without thinking. “I mean, you’re nice."

“You are, too,” he replied. “So, tell me about your childhood." 

 

And so you did. On a Friday night, you told Sebastian Stan a few stories about your childhood, and he told you what it was like to be on a set, acting out words from scripts.

 

You were so into telling each other stories when your phone started ringing. It was Shay, one of your friends, who were probably drunk as hell somewhere. You told Sebastian you needed to go to their table in case something happened, but he insisted that you should just answer the phone. 

“Shay?” you asked. “Something wrong?”

“No, no,” she said. She sounded alright. Well, she should be. She was the designated driver tonight. “Where are you? Mark just left. He took Zoe and Ashley home. Zack’s on his way to help me get the rest of these sluts home. Are you drunk?” 

“I’m still at the bar. And no, I’ve had a few but I’m not drunk. Do you need help?" 

“No, no, it’s fine. Zack and I can handle them. He’s on his way. Do you need us to drive you home?” she asked, and you looked at Sebastian who was sitting right in front of you, also on his phone—texting, maybe. 

 

And you thought about it for a moment. Whenever you were with Sebastian, you always thought that it would be the last one. Maybe you lucked out the first few times. Maybe he would leave again for a shoot or something. Maybe this was the last time.

“I’ll stay for a bit,” you said after a few seconds, making Sebastian look up from his phone.

“Are you with someone? Can he take you home? I mean, it’s really late. You can’t go home on your own.”

“It’s fine,” you said. “I’ve got company. We’ll be fine. Thank you, Shay.”

“All right, sweetie,” she said and bid her goodbye.

You ended the call and slipped your phone back to your jeans’ back pocket. Sebastian, who was still looking at you, smiled.

“I’m guessing you’re not heading home yet?” he asked.

“Not yet,” you replied. “You’re not going back to your friends?”

“They’re all on their way home,” he answered.

“What?” you asked. “Why didn’t you tell me? You should have gone with them!”

“I made the right choice,” he shrugged and took a sip from his drink. “You didn’t go home with your friends as well.”

You smiled, and took a sip from your drink as well.

 

Your night went on, even when it was almost midnight. Had you not gone to the bar alone, you could have been home now, sleeping from all the exhaustion and dreaming about nothing and everything. 

 

Three more rum and cokes later, you were ready to leave. Sebastian paid for his tab, and the one drink you had after your friends have left, and led you outside.

“How are you gonna get home?” you asked him.

“With you,” he answered.

You laughed. “Let’s walk then?”

“If you want to,” he replied, smiling.

 

You took a turn and started walking side by side. Your heels hurt like hell, and you regret wearing them, like you do every time. It was silent for a couple of minutes until Sebastian started telling you another story of when he was 25, intoxicated and in love. 

 

“A boom box,” you snorted. “How cheesy can you be, Sebastian Stan?”

“I swear,” he said. “And that was a month after the break up. I literally just went up in front of her house, super drunk, at two in the morning. I’m not even gonna lie; I was literally sobbing as _When You Say Nothing At All_ by Ronan Keating played from the boom box. Her neighbors probably woke up, I don’t remember. But I remember her calling one of my pals to pick me up. And I was just standing there, begging for her to take me back. But she didn’t. My friend said I was passed out on the sidewalk by the time he arrived. She didn’t even get out of her house to check if I was okay.” 

You laughed, then apologized. “You really bargained for her love, then?”

“Not really,” he answered. “I wouldn’t have done that if I weren’t drunk as fuck. I didn’t even talk to her after the break up or after that incident.”

“You still did,” you remarked. “I would like to see that. Next time that happens, please tell your girl or friends to tape it.”

“I will,” he said, laughing with you.

You were in front of your building by the time your laughing had died down. 

“Well,” you said as you stopped and rocked yourself back and forth. “This is where I live. Now that you know, you can stop stalking me.”

He bit his lip and chuckled. “Sure, (Y/N), whatever you say.”

“Thanks for tonight, Seb, even if we really didn’t plan this,” you said.

“You’re welcome, and thanks,” he replied. “Well, we can always make plans if you want.” 

You only nodded and watched him pull his phone from his pocket. He handed his phone to you 

“Put your number on, so I can call you when I can,” he said. So you did, and saved it with your full name. He took your phone back, smiled when he noticed you put your full name, and tapped the screen. Seconds later, your phone was ringing from your back pocket. 

“Just wanted to make sure,” he said.

“You actually thought I gave you a fake number?” you asked.

“I’m kidding,” he replied. “Save my number. I’ll text you first. I know how you girls get frustrated when men don’t text you first.” 

You gasp. “Speak for other women, Mr. Stan. I don’t.”

“Whatever,” he said and slipped his phone back to his pocket.

“I’ll see you around, then?” you asked, and he nodded.

 

You thought he would just agree and then start walking away, but you were surprised when he stepped closer and pulled you for a hug. He engulfed you in his arms, and as cliché as it sounded, you fit together. His arms were wrapped around your torso, and it took you a second to wrap yours around his neck and give him a pat on the shoulder.

 

The moment was short, but enough to make your heart race.

“I’ll see you around,” he whispered, lips pressed to your hair. And finally, he let go.

You smiled as you pulled away and started walking towards your building’s entrance. He watched you walk, and you stopped once you’ve entered. 

Confused, you asked him, “What are you still doing there? Go!”

He laughed, nodding. And started walking.

“Be careful!” you reminded. “Some fangirls might be on your way and take you!”

“Goodnight!” he yelled back, laughing and you watched him go.

 

The eighteen—no, wait—nineteenth of November was a great day. It was only two in the morning, but you already knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	6. Long Island, New York

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanksgiving Day, Long Island
> 
> “Winnie won’t stop following me around. I’m now her godmother." 
> 
> “I don’t think that’s how it works. I think she needs to be baptized for that.”

**_Sebastian Stan was a persuasive person._ **

 

The morning after the night you told him about your childhood, he called you to ask about your plans. You were already at work, surrounded by papers needed to be reviewed by the time he asked if you were allowed to have a break for coffee. You declined the offer and told him you can’t even go out at lunch because Marlene was having a lunch meeting with one of the new authors and your presence was essential. You suggested dinner, but he had already plans with his friends. He offered for you to join them, but you politely declined. And so the phone call ended with something like, you’ll see whatever you can do tomorrow.

And the day came like a promise. He got up earlier than usual for gym, and waited for you at the café where you met. You told him you never really buy your coffee there unless you were in a rush. And he told you to shut up and drink your coffee. He insisted on walking you to work, but you turned him down, saying he stunk and needed a shower. Both of you laughed as you parted ways.

You didn’t see him again until two days later, when he called if you’d had lunch. Thankfully, Marlene let you have your lunch outside because it wasn’t a particularly busy day. You went out for lunch with him, and it was the first time you were photographed together. An undercover paparazzi was apparently following him and trying to make a story of how his life goes when he’s not working. It was the first time you saw him annoyed.

The next day arrived as usual. You got up, cuddled your dog on the floor while you waited for your coffee, took a bath, dressed, carried your dog and took her to your neighbor, and went to work. By the time you came home, you were exhausted. You answered the door, it was your 19-year old neighbor who took care of your dog while you were at work. You had dinner, washed the dishes, took a bath, and headed for bed. You were about to sleep when Sebastian called, asking about your plans for the weekend. And so you told him. To say he was shocked that you were spending Thanksgiving alone was a total understatement.

All of your friends were spending Thanksgiving with their partner’s families. Your family went to San Francisco for Thanksgiving, thus you really couldn’t go back to Maine, where you’re originally from. Besides, you can’t leave your dog with the neighbor. 

“Why didn’t you go to San Francisco with them?” he asked through the phone.

“It was a whole week of vacation, Seb,” you answered. “I can’t leave work for that long." 

“You should’ve just gone even for the weekend.”

“I can’t leave my dog,” you replied.

“Uhm, your neighbor?” he suggested. 

“They’re already getting ready for Utah,” you answered. 

“Come on,” he said. “You can’t spend Thanksgiving alone! Who does that?”

“I did,” you said. “Last year. I spent Thanksgiving alone.”

“What?” he asked. “Thought you had a boyfriend.”

“I did,” you replied. “He was on tour with his band during Thanksgiving.”

“He didn’t spend it with you? What kind of boyfriend was he?” 

“A hardworking boyfriend,” you retorted. “One that did everything to make something out of his music.”

“But he should have gotten you a ticket to wherever he was,” he mumbled, but you heard it clearly. 

Sighing, you ran your fingers through your hair. “Let’s not talk about it. I’m spending Thanksgiving alone. End of story.”

“I can’t let you do that,” he replied, sighing back. “I’m calling my Mom.”

This made you get up. “What? Why?”

“I’m spending Thanksgiving here with you,” he answered nonchalantly. 

“What?” you exclaimed. “You can’t do that! I’m not letting you do that!” 

“That’s what I told you when you said you’re spending the holiday alone.” 

“Seb, you can’t do that!” you exclaimed again.

“Why not?” 

“We barely know each other,” you replied. “You can’t just tell your mother you’re not going home because a lonely girl you just met is alone on Thanksgiving.”

“I didn’t _just_ meet you, (Y/N),” he corrected. “We met three weeks ago.”

You groaned. “Nope, you’re not cancelling your plans with your mother for me. I’m getting up from bed. I’ll pack my clothes and try to catch a plane to San Francisco at this hour.”

“It’s impossible,” you hear him say. “Everyone’s trying to catch a flight tonight. Come on, (Y/N). It’ll be fun. We’ll eat take-out or if you know how to cook the turkey, then turkey it is. My mom will be cool about it.”

You snorted. “I won’t.”

“It’ll be fun.”

“It won’t.”

“Besides,” he said. “Even if you tell me you’ll catch a plane now and assure me you won’t be spending Thanksgiving alone, I know you’ll still be there at your apartment.” 

“Seb, no,” you said. “I’m ending this conversation.”

“Come on,” he said again. “Wait, how about we go to my Mom’s for Thanksgiving?”

 

You stopped, unable to talk. Was he really asking you to spend Thanksgiving with his family after three weeks of barely being friends? 

 

“Do you do this to every girl you meet?” you asked, regretting it immediately.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you mumbled. “Goodnight, Sebastian.”

“What did you say?” he asked again. “Did I hear you correctly? What do you think am I doing? Luring you to….. what? Tell me.”

“It’s just that,” you sighed. “We barely know each other, Seb, and you’re already asking me to spend Thanksgiving with you.”

“I’m being nice,” he said, voice rising a little. “You’re my friend, and I don’t want you to spend the holiday alone.”

“I know, Seb,” you said. “It’s just that…” 

“That?”

 

You thought about it a little, letting your mind list every single thing that could go wrong. The paparazzi could catch the two of you, leading to a whole lot of different list of things that could go wrong. His mother may hate you and ask Sebastian to stop being friends with you. Or Sebastian himself would realize that he’s only wasting his time with you.

 

Then you asked yourself, what good could happen?

A story, you thought. You could get a good story about a weekend with Sebastian Stan and his family.

“All right,” you gave in. “I’m spending Thanksgiving with you and your family.”

 

And that’s how you ended up inside Sebastian’s home in Long Island, cuddling his mother and stepfather’s dog and Hermione, your dog, on Thanksgiving Day.

  

“Honey, Tony and I are going out to grab a few things from the market,” Georgeta, Sebastian’s mother, called out from the hallway.

“He’s in his room,” you politely answered and got up. Winnie, their dog, followed you as you walked out to the hallway, while Hermione stayed behind. “Do you need help? Seb and I can just go." 

“It’s all right, sweetie,” she said, smiling. “Tony and I can still handle a little shopping. You stay here and watch the dog. We’ll be back in a few.”

You nodded and walked them out of the house.

 

Georgeta was a sweet, wonderful woman. She waited for you and Sebastian to arrive on their peaceful home’s porch and welcomed you both with a hug. She introduced herself and took the flowers you got for her, while Sebastian carried little Hermione inside. Anthony, or Tony, was waiting in the living room when you entered. He hugged Sebastian, and then shook hands with you. 

They mentioned that none of their kids, besides Sebastian, decided to come home for Thanksgiving. Two of Sebastian’s stepsiblings were in Europe and the other was in California. It was kind of sad just hearing it, and Georgeta noticed the look on your face when she told you, so she assured that it was fine because they’ve never really spent Thanksgiving on their own. Someone always came back home.

 

“Seb,” you called out, and he immediately ran downstairs.

 “They’re out?” he asked, barely landing on the last step. You nodded. 

“Winnie won’t stop following me around,” you announced. “I’m now her godmother." 

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” he said with a shrug. “I think she needs to be baptized for that.” 

“No, that’s how it works for dogs,” you said following him as you entered the kitchen. “From this day on, I’ll be allowed to visit her anytime. She can play with my Hermione.”

He laughed, opening the fridge and getting himself a drink. He offered one for you, but you politely declined.

“So, you want to visit a dog in Long Island but not me who lives a block from your apartment?”

“Mmhmm,” you hummed, jumping on the stool. “So, this is where you lived?”

He nodded, setting the drink down the counter and standing across you. You rested your elbows on the counter and leaned close to him.

“So, how many girls have you brought here?” you asked.

“All of my official girlfriends,” he answered, resting his elbows as well and leaning forward. 

“You have unofficial girlfriends?” you asked, letting out a laugh. “Tell me about your childhood then.”

 

And so he did, just like you did a few nights ago.

 

A couple of hours later, you and Sebastian were in the living room, watching Pretty Woman with Winnie and Hermione, and his parents were back from the market. You insisted to make the pie because you knew how to, thanks to your mother. Sebastian offered to make the mashed potatoes because it was the easiest to do. Tony helped set the table and Georgeta cooked the turkey.

Once Sebastian was done with his task, Tony asked him for help in setting up the Christmas lights in the living room, leaving you with Georgeta in the kitchen.

“How long have you known Sebby?” she asked while she stirred the casserole.

“Three weeks,” you answered. “We don’t know each other that long. I hope it’s alright that I’m here.”

“Oh honey,” she said and stopped stirring to face you. “It’s alright. He told me you were a good friend of his and you were alone for the holidays. Our home is always open for another guest, no matter how short the time you’ve known him.”

“Thank you,” you replied. “Your home is beautiful. I hope I can come back again.”

“You’re always welcome here, honey. A friend of any of my children is a friend of the family,” she answered, turning back to the casserole. “Did you grow up here in New York?”

“No,” you answered, leaning against the counter. “I was born and raised in Maine, until I moved in Providence for university.” 

“You went to Brown?” she gasped.

You nodded. “How did you know?”

“Let’s be real, honey, every student who moves to Providence goes to Brown,” she joked. “What program did you take?”

“Literary Arts,” you answered. “I moved to New York in hopes of getting my works published. But it’s been six years and I’m still living off my monthly paycheck.”

“Your time will come, sweetheart,” she said. “Sebby waited for his for a long, long time. Look at him, he’s so happy.” 

And you did. You turned to look at Sebastian who was laughing at whatever Tony had just told him.

“That’s what we all want, don’t we?” you whispered. Georgeta hummed in response.

“How’s it like in Maine?” she asked, changing the topic. “I’ve never been there.”

“I would suggest you to take a trip when you can but it’s really boring out there.” 

“You only say that because you grew up there,” she replied, letting out a laugh. “The casserole’s done. Dinner’s ready!”

And with her announcement, Sebastian and Tony made their way to the dining area. You and Georgeta carried what you can and placed everything on the table. Winnie followed, nuzzling her nose on your feet.

 

The dinner began like every Thanksgiving dinner does. Tony led the short prayer, and then Georgeta announced what she was thankful for. Next was Tony, and then me. 

You thanked for the beautiful day, for being invited in their humble home, for Hermione (like you do every year since she was born), for Sebastian, and for you wonderful job.

Sebastian did the same.

 

“I am grateful for my beautiful parents’ health, for my agent and manager, for the roles I did and I am yet to portray, for our safe trip from the city to here,” he said, and then looked at you. “And for the lack of tables available at Café Nero on November third.”

Your eyes widened, but before you could react, Georgeta clapped her hand and announced the commencement of digging in to the sumptuous dinner you all prepared together.

 

Sebastian Stan knew the exact date you met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	7. Instagram, iMessage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> December 10th, Instagram/Texts
> 
> "Get some sleep."  
> "I’m a princess."  
> "Get some sleep, princess."

_**You loved your friends to death, but they can be annoying at times.** _

 

It was a friends’ night out two weeks after Thanksgiving Day—tenth of December. You figured the holidays were arriving again, and you hadn’t spent enough quality time with your friends. You were bound to part again in a couple more weeks, so you decided to get some drinks on a Saturday night.

The night started beautifully, like how it does every time. Zoe was excited about her new project as a designer. Shay and Zack were getting serious. Ashley and Samantha were still going steady with their lives, but having fun nonetheless. Mark and Leila were sweet, as usual.

“Tell us about Sebastian,” Zoe suddenly suggested. “You never talk about him!”

“You all know him,” you sighed. “From all the Captain America movies? And Ricki and the Flash? The Bronze? Do I need to mention all the movies he starred in that we watched?” 

“Come on, girl, give us more,” Ashley joined, nudging you on the shoulder. “What’s going on with you two?”

“Nothing,” you said. “We’re getting along really well. He’s a good friend.”

“He took you to meet _the_ parents three weeks into your friendship,” Zack pointed out. “I think he deserves a title better than a good friend.”

“A great friend then,” you replied, taking a shot to help you go through the night.

“Leila and I were friends for, like, ten years,” Mark added. “And I only took her to officially meet my parents as my girlfriend two months into the relationship.”

“Well,” you countered back. “Sebastian, unlike you, is a great friend who didn’t want me to be alone on Thanksgiving Day.”

“Hey!” Ashley exclaimed. “I invited you. You said you were going to San Francisco!" 

You scoffed and took another shot.

“Easy there, tiger,” Shay said, tapping the table.

“If you’re all going to ask me stuff about Sebastian, might as well be drunk ‘cause I don’t fucking know,” you mumbled.

“Woah,” Leila bellowed. “The f-word. Must be serious.”

“I am serious,” you added. “I don’t fucking know.”

“Well, has he said anything yet?” Samantha asked. “I mean, he must have given you hints." 

“He treats me like a friend,” you answered. “He doesn’t flirt with me or anything, just how Mark and Zack treat me.”

“We’ve never taken you to our parents’ home,” Zack mumbled, earning a death glare from you.

“It’s true!” Mark agreed.

“I don’t know,” you just said with a shrug. “I mean, I like him as a friend. He’s nice.”

“Whatever you say then, Ms. I-Don’t-Fucking-Know,” Ashley said, ending the conversation about Sebastian.

 

Much to your dismay, the night ended a little too early. Mark was flying to Los Angeles for work in the morning, so you all had to leave. Zack and Ashley dropped you off before heading home in their apartment as well.

You did your night routine before heading to bed. You weren’t in the mood to watch anything, so you opted for social media to help you sleep that night. 

You posted a photo of you, Shay and Zack taken by Ashley outside the bar and captioned it with ‘ _the only couple i’ll always third wheel to #thanksfordroppingmehome #singlediaries_ ’ on Instagram. Immediately, your followers liked it. Shay even left a comment saying ‘ _one day we’ll get tired of keeping you safe at night. get a boyfriend_ ’. 

Laughing, you liked her comment and responded with a ‘ _#nobodydeservesthisass_ ’.

You scrolled through your notifications and noticed that Zoe posted and tagged you in the group picture. Skipping through a few new followers, you noticed that Ashley and Samantha posted their photos as well. And as you scrolled further, you finally saw it.

 

‘ _imsebastianstan started following you_ ,’ it said. The notification was half an hour ago.

 

Your palms started to get sweaty as you clicked on his profile. You have been following him so there was no need to tap the follow button. 

It was only then when you understood the drastic and out-of-nowhere followers you acquired for the past thirty minutes 

A second later, another notification startled you.

 

‘ _imsebastianstan left a comment on your photo:_ * * *’

It was three heart-eyed emojis. That’s it. That was his comment, and it was enough to make your heart race again.

 

It didn’t even take a minute for your notifications to start exploding. A few people were already leaving comments on that photo, asking who you were. So you rushed your way to your accounts settings and quickly switched your profile to private. Thank goodness you were quick.

Only around twenty strangers were able to leave comments, but a good half a hundred were quick enough to follow you before you switched to private.

You didn’t know what to do, so you only ‘liked’ Sebastian’s comment.

You proceeded to your phone’s home screen and tapped the message icon to text Sebastian.

 

_**You:** A warning would be great next time._

_**Sebastian:** I’m sorry. I didn’t think it through. You can block them, if you want._

_**You:** And what? Get more attention? Hell no._

_**You:** And heart-eyed emojis? Really, Sebastian Stan? Can you get any lamer?_

_**Sebastian:** Don’t underestimate my competence to be lame, Miss. You haven’t seen the best of me yet._

_**You:** Lol_

_**You:** Don’t wanna know_

_**Sebastian:** How long have you been following me?_

_Y **ou:** round 2 yrs now_

_**Sebastian:** Wow, I should have checked all of my followers two years ago._

_**You:** Lol_

_**You:** Ragrets_

_**You** : It’s late, why are you still awake_

_**Sebastian:** Couldn’t sleep. Big day tomorrow_

_**You:** Why_

_**Sebastian:** Table reading for a role. It’s happening in NYC_

_**You: G** ood luck then_

_**Sebastian:** How was your night?_

_**You:** T’was great. Zoe was drunk as hell, as usual._

 

It was silent for a few seconds, until Sebastian typed again, making you laugh with his next response.

_**Sebastian:** So…_

_**Sebastian:** #nobodydeservesthatass???_

_**You:** HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA_

_**You:** IM LITERALLY ON THE FLOOR_

_**You:** But really_

_**You:** N o b o d y_

_**Sebastian:** How do I sign up?_

_**You:** You don’t_

_**You:** I mean_

_**You:** You can’t_

_**You:** There’s no audition or trial_

_**You:** I get to choose_

_**Sebastian:** I’d like to try_

_**You:** Nope_

_**You:** Go to sleep_

_**Sebastian:** Hahaha you’re getting awkward, I can feel it_

_**You:** No, just drunk_

_**Sebastian:** Wow you are an articulate and eloquent drunk_

_**You:** Very_

_**You:** n33d 2 b my b3$t 3v3n wHen 1’m dRunK_

_**Sebastian:** I can literally see how much you struggled to type that_

_**You:** I didn’t drink much though_

_**You:** Just a little intoxicated but still all right_

_**Sebastian:** Get some sleep_

_**You:** I’m a princess_

_**Sebastian:** Get some sleep, princess_

_**You:** Much better_

_**You:** Goodnight, Sebastian Stan_

_**Sebastian:** Goodnight, princess._

 

And so you slept with a sly smile on your face and the thought of how much you liked your life so far.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	8. Memory Lane

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> December 20th, Memory Lane

_**You tend to push people away sometimes.** _

 

For example: when your grandfather died ten years ago, you didn’t speak to anyone. It took you three weeks after the funeral to actually make a decent conversation.

Your best friend at the time, Luke, who ended up as your boyfriend three years later, was convinced that you were depressed. He figured you didn’t eat, refused to go out, never spoke to anyone unless needed (e.g. in school, ordering food), and just all out extremely sad.

You knew you weren’t. You ate properly and sufficiently, but only when no one was in the kitchen. You would sneak your food up to your room. You did the same things you were doing when your Pop was alive. The only difference was that you didn’t want to talk to anyone.

Luke, your ex-boyfriend, witnessed most of the days when you just didn’t want to talk to anyone. But now, he was the reason why you were having one of those days. 

 

 

Marlene allowed you to go home seven days before Christmas, December 18. Considering that it was the holidays and her schedule gets hectic at this time of the year, you refused and told her you’d stay longer. But Marlene Parker was a convincing person, so there you were back in your parents’ house on December 18. 

You wished you were better at convincing and just stayed in New York longer.

 

Luke Harding lived three houses beside yours.

 

It was a painful coincidence that he was back home early as well. Him being home wasn’t painful. Of course, you had expected that. He was always home during the holidays. What’s painful was that he brought his new girlfriend home.

You weren’t even affected by the fact that he brought her home for you to see seven months after he admitted he cheated on you. From his band mates’ photos on Instagram, you were sure the blonde clutching on his arm was the one he cheated on you for. You were uncomfortable, that was the right term.

A couple of hours into being home, your neighbor already asked why Luke brought home a different woman. They started asking when you broke up, why you did, and kind of knew it because you didn’t come home for almost a year. You responded with simple answers: seven months ago, and it was a mutual thing—which was somehow true.

 

May ten, the day everything ended and began, was as clear as drinking water to you. 

 

Truthfully, you didn’t see it coming, even when you already had started having problems.

You remember that on May ten, Marlene let you have the rest of the day off after you’d successfully filed all papers and responded to e-mails. You were happy, ecstatic even, to get home and be able to call your boyfriend. It had been around a week since the last phone call. 

You knew something was happening. The phone calls went from always to twice a week and the visits almost didn’t add up to once a month.

 

Luke was touring the whole America along with his band to support a much bigger and more successful band. He has been on the road since January, but has been away for almost a year, making music on the other side of America. The last time you saw him was on Valentine’s Day, when you luckily caught a last-minute plane to Los Angeles.

You started getting busy with work, and so did he. It was heartbreaking just remembering how his voice sounded when he begged you to come on tour with him. But you just couldn’t. You, so badly, wanted to get published but still aren’t. And perhaps that was the universe’s punishment to you for not following him while he followed his dreams. You supported him and adored his music, but you just couldn’t drop everything to watch him reach his dreams. 

On May tenth, you called him, finally making up a decision. You thought about it all month, weighing your options and sorting everything out. You were going on tour with him on the beginning of June. The tour was until October, and your contract with Bloomsbury was until the end of May. You can always file a leave before renewing your work contract. Besides, you were up for being permanent, and you were allowed to have a vacation before you fully commit to the company.

 

But he also thought about a decision all month long.

 

“(Y/N),” he answered the phone, and the smile on your face slowly faltered 

“Luke,” you replied. “What’s wrong? How are you?” 

“I’m all right,” he mumbled. “We’re in San Francisco. You called early, what happened?”

You smiled, realizing he still kept track on New York time. 

“I’m great!” you responded. “Marlene let me out a couple of hours earlier today. She’s also trying to lure me into agreeing to be a permanent employee, so she asked me to send her a manuscript of anything I’ve done. I mean, I don’t think she’ll give it to the publishers and get them to publish it right away, but it’s a sign, right? I’m so excited.”

“Good for you,” he said, almost whispered. “Hey, we need to talk.”

“We are talking,” you replied. “I have great news for you!" 

“I need to tell you what I have to tell you first,” he said slowly. And you were confused on why he sounded so sad. But you shrugged the thought away because he might have been just tired from all the touring.

“Yeah, yeah, of course. Sure. Go on,” you said, leaning against your bed’s headboard. “Is everything okay?”

He hummed then sighed, making you frown. Something was going on.

 

You waited, and waited, and waited. A minute felt like an hour, and all you could hear was his breathing on the other line and your heart racing every second.

 

And then he dropped the bomb.

 

“I’m seeing someone,” he finally said. “Her name’s Amanda. I met her at the LA show’s after party through some mutual friends.”

You stopped breathing. 

“She’s…” he trailed off. “Supportive. She loves the band. And… we just hit it off immediately. Everything happened so fast, it was… I don’t know.”

Tears were already threatening to fall out of your eyes.

“I asked her to come to the rest of the tour with me,” he continued. “She didn’t exactly have a job, so she was fine. She’s here right now. I mean, not at this moment. She’s in the shower. But she’s with me. The rest of the band is okay with her being with me during the tour. She helps us prepare before the show and stuff.”

You nodded, unable to talk. The first stream of tears fell, and you still couldn’t breathe.

“(Y/N)?” he asked after hearing no response. “Are you there?”

You swallowed the lump on your throat, nodded again as if he could see you, and wiped your tears.

“When did this happen?”

“End of February,” he answered immediately.

You let out a laugh. “After I paid an expensive as fuck ticket to surprise you? And you decided to tell me only now?”

“I thought you were finally coming with me,” he answered with a sigh. “But you left at two a.m. with a note on the bedside table.”

“Because I was needed at work!” you shouted, letting the tears fall. 

“I needed you,” he retorted. “I needed you but you weren’t there.”

“I need you, too,” you answered. “And you aren’t here and I’m okay with that, because you have your own set of dreams to follow. I will never ask you to drop anything for me, Luke. I never did, and I still will not. Why are you only telling me this now?" 

He didn’t talk.

“Give me something, Luke,” you pleaded. “Something else besides not being there. Just… please. Why only now? You have been with someone else for… more than two months now. Why only now?" 

“I don’t want to lose you,” he answered after a minute. “You were my best friend for so long, (Y/N). We went through the shithole we called high school together. You know me more than anyone else. I… I can’t just lose you like this." 

“What do you want, then?” you challenged. “You want us to be together, but get another woman for you to take on tour, then come home like nothing happened?”

 

No answer.

 

“Because I’m not gonna do that, Luke,” you said calmly. “I’m not gonna be the woman who will watch you ruin things and let you get away with it.”

“I’m sorry.”

 

You became silent as well, trying to digest everything in, even though it hurt your stomach, you wanted to throw up. Two, three, four minutes—you didn’t know, but it felt longer than that.

None of you spoke, until you finally made up your mind. Finally, truthfully.

 

“I’ll get someone to remove my name from this apartment’s lease,” you said.

“No, (Y/N),” he interrupted. “The apartment is yours. You decorated it and everything—”

“No, Luke,” you bellowed. “You don’t get to say anything.”

He sighed.

“I’ll get my name removed, but I’ll pay this month’s rent. Find yourself a way to pay them until you come back.”

“You can stay there until I co—” 

“I’m taking Hermione,” you interrupted. “She’s the only one I’ll take from everything you gave me. But you can get her back if you want to. For the mean time, she’s with me.” 

“You keep her,” he replied. “She likes you more than me.” 

You wanted to yell at him that _yes,_ of course, Hermione liked you better. You were home more and you never pushed her off the bed like he did. But you kept everything to yourself.

“I’ve nothing else to say,” you said. “Goodbye, Luke.”

“I’m so sorry,” he replied. “I didn’t want any of this to happ—”

“So did I,” you interrupted. “And you were wrong about one thing tonight.”

He stayed silent. 

 

“I do not know you better than anyone else,” you said. “I do not know who you are now at all.”

 

And you ended the call. 

The second it was off, you threw it on the ground, watching it break. Sobbing, you let everything out. You felt like you couldn’t breathe, because your chest was hurting, but maybe it was just the hole that burned in the middle.

 

Your dog immediately ran to your room when she heard something break and started licking your hands that covered your face.

And you were just crying all night, hoping all the sobbing would numb the pain in your chest. But it never did. 

Remembering the tenth day of May still pained you but not as much as it did on the day itself.

 

It was the twentieth of December and you were pushing everyone away, including Sebastian.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	9. Voicemail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> December 23rd, Voicemail
> 
> “Call me back when you can. Bye.”

_**Sebastian was worried when you didn’t answer four of his calls and reply on every text message he sent you.** _

 

He knew you were home. You even had lunch with him before your cousin, who lived in Manhattan, picked you and your dog up from your apartment to go back home in Maine. He expected you to not be able to talk as much during the holidays because he, too, was busy with his family. But it had been three days, and the last message you sent him was the goodnight text after you’d assured him you were home safely.

He knew something was going on, so he went to Instagram, went through your photos to find Zoe’s account.

Following her, he sent her a direct message asking how she was. Immediately, Zoe responded, saying she just arrived in Brooklyn for the holidays. He went on to asking Zoe if she’d heard anything from you because he was worried that you haven’t been responding. 

Zoe took a minute to reply, but when she did, she asked for his number and promised, crossed her heart, that she wouldn’t give it away, because she didn’t know how to say it through an Instagram DM. 

 

So, two minutes later, Sebastian was on the phone with Zoe.

 

“She’s…” she trailed off, letting out a sigh. “It’s not really my story to tell, but I’m worried as well.”

“Has she told you anything?” he asked.

“No,” she answered. “I was lucky enough that she answered my call yesterday.”

Sebastian frowned. You got to talk to Zoe, but not him?

“What’d she say?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she replied. “She said she was alright, but was resting so she couldn’t update anyone about being home. But we all were waiting for her to say something.” 

“What’s the big deal of her being home?” he asked. “Is there any problem?” 

“Like I said,” she answered. “It’s not my story to tell. I think it would be better if you heard it from her.”

“She’s not answering me,” he mumbled. “Not even a text.”

“She does that. I’m sorry.”

He only hummed in response. 

 

“Look, I’m going to tell you stuff but she can’t know I told you, all right?” she said after contemplating for a minute. 

“My mouth is closed.”

“Okay,” she breathed out. “I think it’s about her ex-boyfriend. Has she told you about him?”

“She mentioned him once,” he answered. “But not really.”

“Their best of friends when they were children and their families are neighbors, and it’s really impossible not to see him. Especially that it’s the holidays. I’m sure Luke’s home as well,” she rambled.

“Luke, huh?”

He heard her groan. “His name slipped up. Just pretend it didn’t come from me.” 

“I’m not telling (Y/N) anything,” he promised. “So that’s why she’s not responding, huh? Do you think they got back together?”

 

Zoe snorted from the other line. “Hell, no. No fucking way (Y/N)’s getting back with that asshole. And if she did, we’d all be on our way to Maine to smack her head upside down.”

 

“That bad, huh?” 

“Very,” she answered. “And I’m not telling you, so don’t get your hopes up.”

“What do I do then?”

 “Wow,” she said. “Sebastian Stan, known for his role as the Winter Soldier, is asking me for advice. Truly, I have to admit, I never saw this day coming.”

“Zoe.”

“Okay, okay,” she laughed. “Give her time.”

“That’s your best advice?”

“That’s the only advice,” she answered. “Even if you call her up a hundred more times tonight, she won’t respond. She doesn’t like talking to anyone when she’s sad.”

“Any chance she’s still in love with him?”

Zoe laughed again.

“What? I’m just asking!”

“Oh, Sebastian Stan,” she replied. “Do you like her?”

“’Course I do,” he answered immediately. “I… I mean, she’s a good friend. She’s really nice.”

“How wonderful,” she said. “She said the same thing about you."

“She did?" 

“You’re pathetic,” she laughed. “I’m sure she’s no longer in love with Luke, but that doesn’t mean it no longer hurts. Give her time, Sebastian. It’ll pass.”

“Thanks, Zoe.” 

“Anytime, Mr. Stan,” she replied. “I’m ending this call, I need to sleep.”

 

As Sebastian ended the call, he leaned against the chair he was settled in. He was worried, yes, but did he like you the way Zoe was insinuating?

He rounded up everything he felt since he met you.

 

You were beautiful, that was given. With your beautiful hair cascading past you shoulders, and your tantalizing eyes that seem to show what you really feel all the time, and how you just sparkle when you laugh, you  _are_ beautiful. But the way you looked was superficial compared to who you really are.

Hardworking, determined, focused—everything that pertained to being strong minded and indomitable was perfect to describe you. You were focused on what you wanted, on what you hoped for, and did everything you could to get them. Besides that, you're a good friend. Not only to him, but to everyone else as well. 

And _goodness, you_  listen to Pink Floyd and Green Day. You are a good storyteller. Sometimes when you’re together and you remember something from three years ago, like your sister making it to Brown as well, you whole body lit up in excitement. Your eyes dazzled like your story was happening at the moment and the thrill of the story was still there.

You were genuinely interested in what he does. You always asked about how he channels and meditates himself to convey the right emotions for a role. You asked about his roles; which one he liked the most, which one he related to the most, which one he hated, which one he wished he would do all over again. 

And for over a month of friendship, they have learned a lot about and from each other.

Sebastian liked you, and whether or not it was something more, he didn’t know. But it didn’t matter to him, as long as he gets to keep a person like you in his life.

 

And so after making up a decision about whether he’d keep calling you or not, he got up, prepared for bed, and dialed your number.

It went to voicemail, as usual. He had never left you a message in that way; he figured tonight would be a good time.

“Uhh, hello,” he said faintly. “How are you? I haven’t heard from you in a couple of days, and you told me you’d send pictures of Maine but you haven’t. I know you’re busy and stuff, but I hope you’re all right.”

Two seconds of silence.

“I, uhh,” he cleared his throat. “Call me back when you can. Bye.”

 

You did.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
